


A Dream State

by teaandjam



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaandjam/pseuds/teaandjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 months after Sherlock returned from the Bart's incident, John has a nightmare and Sherlock doesn't know what to do...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream State

**Author's Note:**

> This was an omegle rp with corriewishing.tumblr.com (follow her she is amazing!!!) that I have turned into a fanfic so thank you corrie for writing for John <3

It had been three months since Sherlock had returned to 221B Baker Street, and he felt as if he had settled in quite nicely. The entire apartment said “Sherlock’s back!”, from the returned skull on the mantle to the experiments in the kitchen and the new scuff marks on the floor and tables, everything was as it was before Sherlock left for 6 months after the “Bart’s incident” as they both called it. Of course, they didn’t talk about it much - or at all for the most part. Coming back had been rocky (as expected) but he felt as if everything was finally back to normal. Never once did he ever realise quite how much damage he had caused John.

John still didn't want to let the Consulting Detective out of his sight. He still suffered from nightmares about Sherlock's death, and felt the need to be constantly touching him. Whether that was just the sleeve of his soft silk shirts or a hand in his hair whilst reading on the couch. He never saw it as romantic (why would he?) and he always felt self-conscious of his clingy-ness, but Sherlock never seemed to mind, so he never stopped. Sure, he had felt hurt and betrayed when Sherlock came back, but he forgave easily and just accepted the miracle that was his best friend’s life. This was, of course, during the day only. As soon as the sun slipped behind the London skyline the thoughts and memories of the Bart’s incident crept back into his mind and possessed his nightmares. He woke up screaming and drenched in sweat every time. He knew why he was so clingy now - the thought of having Sherlock go again was too much.

Sherlock had gotten into the routine of sleeping next to John in case to wake him up from his nightmares. John had thought it awkward at first (people will talk) but was very grateful when he woke up with another body there for consolation. Up until tonight, of course, Sherlock had assumed they had been about the war still. Tonight, John managed to form words instead of just screams.

"Sherlock!" John was in the middle of a battlefield, except now it was sherlock dying, Sherlock spread out on the pavement, Sherlock dead, Sherlock screaming in pain as a bullet ripped through his abdomen... Now he was talking to John. "John, please. You're a doctor you need to help me..." But John knew that this wound was fatal. "Sherlock I can't do anything... I'm sorry" "Pease John, you have to save me, please John don't let me go..." He felt Sherlock pass out in his arms. He felt his pulse... Barely beating, but still there.“Please God, let him live... I can’t lose him again. Please...”

Sherlock was startled upon hearing his name. He bolted up straight and thought that there was someone else was in the apartment, but no one was there. The way that Sherlock had screamed his name was harsh and longing, and made Sherlock uncomfortable, mainly from the large pain he felt well inside his chest. He then found that John was still asleep, but it almost made it hurt more. Sherlock just wrapped his lanky arms around John and held him in tight, John’s head lying in Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock had never been one for touching, but he felt as if John was always touching him at one time or another, and decided to return the favour when John needed it most.

Now John was being retained, held back by strong and imaginary arms, forced to watch his Sherlock (his Sherlock?) bleed to death. He saw Sherlock writhing around, gripping his wound, and being a doctor, he knew Sherlock had about 5 minutes to live. He lashed out, unseeing, against the arms that held him away from helping what was already a lost cause. The scene skipped, and seemed to play Sherlock's jump on replay, over and over and over. "No! No...SHERLOCK!"

"John shhh...." Sherlock said, a tear gracing one of his glorious cheekbones. "Sshhhhh john it's going to be okay." The pain in Sherlock’s chest was getting worse by the second. It felt as if his lungs were collapsing. His heart was being ripped out I'd his chest my cold icy fingers and shoved down his throat.

"Sherlock...Sherlock...come back... please" John blubbed, bawling now, and still not waking up, although he was vaugley aware of a strong set of arms holding him close, a soft, deep whisper comforting him...

"John please wake up. Please, just for me." Sherlock whispered, still crying. 'Heartbreaking' was now an understatement in this case. Seeing John scream his name like this tore Sherlock in half and it felt said he was standing up on that rooftop again, because that was the last time John had said yelled his name like that.

John slowly drifted back up into consciousnesses, fighting past dream-memories of women with dark hair and a very drunk Harry. This dream state was the worst, he thought. He knew it all was a dream, but all his memories came swimming back. His wishes, his desires, things that he kept buried deep down returning to the surface of his mind. He hated it.

"John, a-are you okay?" Sherlock stammered. Realizing how awkward it must be to wake up to his best friends arms around him and his hair dampened in Sherlock's tears, Sherlock pulled away and muttered something close to "I can explain". Why was he acting like such an idiot?

John, still half-asleep, protested against the sudden lack of warmth, and pulled Sherlock back in, laying his head on Sherlock's chest. "Nightmare." That was an understatement...

"I-I know John. You were, uh, talking this time. Well, y-yelling really, but, uh, I couldn't think of anything else to do." Sherlock stammered. He could feel himself going beet red but he didn't care. The one and only John Watson was in his arms, safe and sound, and nothing was going to ruin this.

John's eyes opened halfway, sleepily. He pulled his head back, a little. "Wh-what did I say?" One of his hands came to rest on Sherlock's shoulder, needing to know that he was here, and real, and not leaving again. He was worried. He knew what kind of things he dreamt about, and the last thing he wanted was Sherlock finding out about those things. There was a reason he buried them so deep...

"Uh, well, er, you were kinda, um, screaming my name. Uh, I didn't know what to make of it. But all you ever said was my name..." Sherlock said, his voice faltering. He felt as if the walls he had spent years building around his mind palace we crumbling with all the John in his system - but he couldn't have cared less.

John sighed with relief... "You were falling. Again." John explained, choking on the words, fingers clutching Sherlock's shoulder. He head flopped back down on his chest. God this was painful...

"What do you mean again..." Sherlock, for the first time in his life, was very confused. Not to mention worried as hell...

"In my dreams. You're always falling... You know, the Bart’s incident. Over and over and over on repeat forever in my head..." John's voice petered off.

“Oh god... John I-I..." Sherlock started. He broke down and cried rather loudly and just kept apologizing over and over again. And oh, the guilt. He felt so much guilt for what he had done to John. Though he had settled down in every other aspect of his life after leaving, the guilt always stayed. And at that very moment in time, it tore through Sherlock like a knife coming out in his tears and his muffled words in John's hair. “I am so so sorry” Sherlock managed to say between sobs.

John reached up a hand and ran it through Sherlock's hair. At this point, he knew it was just another dream, a wonderful, impossible one where Sherlock was so close to him that he felt like there was nothing else in the world. He hadn’t woken up at all. he was just stuck in another dream... He wondered what would happen if he kissed Sherlock. Would this just dissolve into another terrible nightmare soon?

Thought he was not complaining, the hand through Sherlock's hair did not help Sherlock’s situation. Sherlock was ashamed of his sobbing (he had been told as a kid repeatedly how annoying it was) but he had John here. He knew that John was the only person in the entire world who didn't judge him. Who /liked/ him for him. And after being away for so long, John was safe. That's all that mattered. He was safe. There came the guilt, and then more tears. Looking into John's face was the single most amazing thing he had ever seen and experienced, and he didn't know how he managed without it for so long...

John mentally decided that he might as well enjoy this crazy dream while it lasted. It didn't take much effort to close the already tiny distance between them. He almost groaned with the longing, because he had been wanting to do this for so long. He had been wanting to do this since Sherlock came back. He had been wanting to do so since the Bart’s incident. He had been wanting to do so since his first case. He had been wanting to do so since Mike introduced them. And now here he was, in a wonderful dream that was too good to be true.

Sherlock was surprised at first when John pressed his lips to Sherlock's, but he quickly got the hang of things and gave just the littlest push back. Being here, intertwined with John, gave him an epiphany that from the moment Sherlock had met John, he had wanted this. He deduced that John felt the same way. Sherlock pulled away, just far enough to say "John, I love you. I have loved you since the moment I layed eye on you and I swear by all the dead body parts we have in our fridge that I am never, ever, leaving you again."

"I love you too. God, I do.. And there are an awful lot of body parts in the fridge, so you better freaking keep your promise." John kissed him again, silently puzzling over the realness of his dream. Usually, only his nightmares were anywhere near this clear...

And at last they fell asleep together, bodies tangled together, both of them sleeping for the first time in months, finally having everything they had ever yearned for. Happy, for the first time in their lives.

Sherlock awoke in the morning with John still wrapped in his arms after the night before. He gently kissed John's forehead before getting up and going to make them both tea. How he had lived without John's lips on his own, he did not know, but last night was a very emotional night for them both, so Sherlock let John sleep.

John awoke to empty sheets and a cold bed. He blinked his eyes lazily before remembering his dream the night before. He cheeks stained red. He stumbled out of bed, wondering where Sherlock was. At least Sherlock didn’t know his nightmares were about him. There were definitely pros and cons to this situation. It would be so much more messy if the dream had been real, but it would be completely amazing (a dream come true... No pun intended) if it were. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. So he stopped worrying.

Sherlock was already on his chair reading the day's paper when John came down. "John!" Sherlock said with a bit too much enthusiasm, "I trust you had a nice sleep?"

John's eyebrows quirked at Sherlock's sudden lightness. "Yes, fine, really. Why so happy? Did you get a new case?""

"Oh, uh, no..." Sherlock was confused (again?!?!) as he recalled very clearly what had happened the night before. "Uh, I'm just really happy about what happened last night..." Seeing the confusion in John’s eyes, he decided to clarify (though he didn’t see why he needed to, how could anyone forget the amazing things that happened?). “Uh, you were having a really bad nightmare about me jumping, so I held you to help you calm down, but then I got emotional, and we kissed, and said we loved each other... How can you not remember this?”

John's eyes widened suddenly, remembering his 'dream'. Except it wasn't a dream. It was real. Was it all real then? No Sherlock was here without a shot wound. John was confused and it felt as if his brain was working do hard it was just going to suddenly combust. "That was-" he swallowed, suddenly nervous. "-that wasn't a dream?" He felt as if he was going to pass out...

"Um, I don't think so...." Sherlock stammered. What if it was a dream? What if none of it had actually happened? He had been happier last night then he had ever been in his entire life. "Even if what happened last night was a dream, I'm still going to say this, because I still mean it. I love you John Watson. And as I said last night, I am never leaving your side again."

John practically ran across the room to pull Sherlock out of his chair and into a kiss. He could only think in words and phrases because the rest of his mind and body was now a part of Sherlock. He was his. Not a dream. Not leaving. His Sherlock. Love. "I love you too."


End file.
